Tortured Page 2

  She pulls up the tight pencil skirt she has on, I used to wonder where she went all dressed up. The more I’ve gotten to know her, the more I understand. It’s a matter of appearance. It’s part of her role.

  I don’t bother to undress. I’m going to fuck her fast. Then send her to her husband, dirty and used. Next time I’ll bind her and torture her, take my time teasing her as she creams begging to come.

  When she’s in position with her round ass in the air, I kick her feet apart, she’s got on tan patent leather stilettos. She looks so proper. When she’s dressed like this I love to filthy her up.

  “Such a dirty whore. I’ve missed this sweet pussy and tight ass,” the truth is, I really fucking did, more than I should. I glide my palm up her slit, her scent making me high. She lets out a soft moan, it’s like a stroke of her tongue on my flesh. “Ready for me. Too bad.” I slip three fingers inside her wetness. “I’m going to fuck your ass.” She tightens around my fingers inside of her. I smirk. With my other hand, I spread her cheeks and spit on her tight back hole. I hear her suck in a deep breath. “Hold on, baby, I’m not going to be gentle,” I tell her as I catch the stream of spit sliding down her crack. Gathering it up, I swirl it around the puckered hole before pushing my finger deep inside her tightness. She clenches around my finger from the intrusion. I slip my fingers from both her holes and position myself at her rear. “Every time you fucking move, I want you to think of me,” I tell her as I press the head of my shaft in. Goddamn yes! Then I wrap her ponytail around my hand and pull her head back. Sinking into her completely in one quick thrust, I let her swallow me up.

  “Oh God!” she moans, it’s loud and guttural.

  Bending over her back, I press my teeth into the base of her neck as I begin to rock in and out of her. I want my marks on her body. I want her to feel me leave them. Because I’m a twisted mother fucker and knowing anyone can see my violation of her all over her body does shit to me.

  “Yes, harder, please, harder,” she moans.

  My dick swells inside her.

  With one hand holding her head back by her hair, I hold her shoulder with the other and sink into her over and over again. My thrusts are slow and deep and relentless. She can’t see my face, so I allow myself a few moments of complete abandon. She can’t see what being with her does to me. Fucking her rough in the ass is almost a punishment, and it would be if she didn’t enjoy it so damn much. Knowing that gives me a sick thrill. I ride her ass hard and without mercy, I fuck her because I need to. I take every damn thing from her without any thought of consequences. Because she’s giving me everything, and I take it like the prick that I am.

  “Please Gringo,” Sasha begs.

  She’s close, and so am I. I can feel the dam ready to break, and I want her right there with me.

  Letting go of her hair and shoulder, I fold myself over her body and take a nipple between a finger and thumb, and flick her clit with the other.

  “Do you want to come, pet?” I whisper to her.

  “Yes, oh God, yes,” she pants.

  I grind my hips against her ass and pinch her nipple and that sweet little bud. “Come for me, Sasha, scream my fucking name.”

  She does, she screams my name, and when she does, it’s the last stone holding back the rush. I explode in her tight hole. I can feel my release spurting inside her like it’s never going to stop.

  We’re both breathing heavy when I wrap my arms around her. I can feel my cum seeping from around my cock still buried inside her. Lifting from her, I gently pull out and watch it drip.

  “Such a beautiful fucking sight,” I murmur.

  I smear my cum all over her mound and ass cheeks, painting her flesh with me. When she shudders beneath my touch, I get hard all over again.

  Because I think Sasha’s as twisted as I am.

  I fucked her hard, so hard, she’s going to be uncomfortable, it’ll hurt.

  Because she likes the pain. She likes the punishment.

  I give it to her.

  She needs it.

  Because she’s going to meet her husband after another man fucked her hard and dirty with the smell of sex her only perfume.

  CHAPTER 2

  Sasha

  Once upon a time there was a girl. She thought life was simple. You met a boy, fell in love and got married. Then you’d live happily ever after.

  There had been a boy.

  There was a proposition.

  They did get married.

  There were also arrangements and deals. Contracts to sign and non-disclosure agreements to finalize, specifications that had to be met and an image that needed to be maintained.

  There once was a girl who had believed in fairy tales and perfect endings.

  It was all handed to her.

  But not in the way she’d imagined.

  It had come with a price.

  The risks had been hidden in gifts and expensive clothes, vacations and luxury cars, and a house, her castle, where she’s always alone.

  There is a woman who’d once thought life was good, who believed in decency and fairness. She found out that life is full of lies and deceit and coldness and greed.

  There is a woman who thinks about suicide instead of childhood dreams, who cries into her pillow at night alone instead of laughing with friends, who curses the day she signed her life away to a lie.

  And just when you think things couldn’t get any worse, life sends you what you’ve always wanted but can never have.

  A man who owns you in silence. A man who captivates you with strength. A man who whispers danger and darkness. A man who will possess you the way you want to be possessed.

  There’s a quietness to Gringo that elicits fear, a silent danger that wraps around you, a power that consumes you. He is the devil you sell your soul to. I have. Willingly. There’s no undoing it.

  Walking into my husband’s office, (it gets harder and harder to say that), the wonderful ache in my ass gives me fortitude. Each step inside his kingdom is like a ‘Fuck you!’

  It wasn’t always like this.

  I wasn’t always like this.

  Angry. Bitter. Lonely.

  In the beginning I’d thought he was just busy. That he didn’t have time for me. I’d thought things would get better once he’d gotten his career where he wanted it. When we moved into the house I’d thought, ‘Finally.’ But he placed me inside just like the pictures on the wall in his office and left me there. A fixture, an object, not even one important enough to admire. At first, there had been sex, cold, spread your legs, pump, come, roll off sex. Then it turned into, ‘Come here and suck my dick, Sasha, I’ve had a rough day.’ Even on our wedding day, he’d had a meeting. I’d gone to bed alone and woke up to a dick being shoved inside me, a few thrusts and grunts, then he was gone again. Now, he doesn’t even ask me to service him, because that’s what the blow jobs were, like going to the dentist to get his teeth cleaned. He sleeps in his room on the other side of the house, I sleep in mine.

  “Hi Millie. Is he in?”

  Millicent Jones, my husband’s secretary. She is exactly as you’d picture her, pretty with black horn rimmed glasses, a feminine white blouse underneath a cardigan sweater, and a respectable length skirt. Nerdy good girl. Another girl-child James Williams, my husband, claimed and ignores and treats like shit.

  “Hi Mrs. Williams,” Millie lifts her head from whatever she’s working on with surprise on her face. “Yes, he’s in…,” her words trail off as she glances at his closed office door.

  Millicent Jones looks like a librarian, but there’s a woman inside of her dying to break free. I’m Mrs. Williams to her, to everyone here, wife to the man in charge, the king. I will always be that; my appearance is important to his position. I’d rather ask Millie if she has a boyfriend, tell her she looks nice in glasses, but I can’t, I’m not allowed. I don’t know anything about her, not even her age. My guess is she’s about twenty-three, young in age but an old soul. It’s a shame she got stuck wor
king for my husband. He’s got her in a box, secluded from everything and everyone in the office. Just like me. He’s at the top and it’s lonely at the top. Millie’s stuck there with him. I’m stuck in his house. But she doesn’t know that.

  With her attention back on me, she furrows her brows and gives a me a curious look, sensing something is different about me. Yes there is, thank you for noticing. I just had a dick in my ass. Finally. I smile at her. I like Millie. I feel bad because she works for James Williams. I’m sure this is not what she thought she was signing up for.

  I know I didn’t.

  Right now she’s being a watchdog for her boss. For James. From me.

  “How is he today?” I ask understanding her position.

  She shrugs a shoulder, averts her gaze, and forces a small smile. “Same as always. Busy. He’s under a lot of pressure.”

  This is the most she’ll tell me about anything.

  What she’s probably really saying is he’s being his usual dictator self leaving a trail of carcasses in his wake.

  “I know. Can you tell him I’m here? I’d like to have lunch with him.”

  Millie’s face blanches as her eyes go wide. “Um…I…,” she stutters, “he’s got appointments, Mrs. Williams,” I cringe at my name. “You know how busy he is.” I cringe even more because I’m not allowed to do this, me, his wife is not allowed to come here unannounced.

  I know I’m putting Millie in an awkward position. How dare I come in here and demand to have lunch with my husband? To disturb his perfectly structured schedule and ask for a half hour of his precious time? I’ve never come here in the past asking to see him if I wasn’t on his schedule. I’m well aware of how things work.

  Things are different now.

  “I do, Millicent,” her eyes widen minimally with my use of her full name.

  I’m pulling the superior bitch card. I feel guilty but I have no choice if I’m going to get beyond James’ watchdog. I need to spend time with him. As much as I hate it.

  Kicking the bitch mode up a notch, I continue, “Why don’t you be a dear and send him a quick message and tell him I’m waiting.” I flick my freshly manicured nails at her. She stares at me stunned a moment. Bringing it home, I plant a hand on my hip and give her a look that says loud and clear, ‘What are you waiting for?’

  Her lips flatten to a tight line as she bites back anything that might even remotely be considered a backbone while she turns her gaze to the computer screen. Her fingers begin pounding the keyboard as she, I’m sure, types out a message she’s forced to send. Each hard click-click-click is fuck you, fuck her, fuck this!

  I hear you sister. I almost laugh out loud.

  She doesn’t even look at me, just continues to stare at the screen. She clicks this and that, types a word or two, now blatantly ignoring me. I remain standing in front of her desk, tapping icons on my phone’s screen pretending I have a life.

  The only thing I’ve had in years that makes me feel alive, that makes me feel like a woman, is the man who’s cum is seeping slowly from my ass. The man with a darkness inside of him that soothes the brokenness within me. So much so it hurts. He is what gives me the courage to stand here and demand to see the man who controls me.

  “What the…,” I hear Millie say quietly.

  “What is it?”

  “Um, you can go in. He’ll see you,” she looks up at me. Her expression indicates she’s just as surprised as I am.

  “Of course he will,” I reply, still the bitch she believes I am. “Thank you, Millie.” My eyes meet hers. I mean it, and I hope she sees that I do.

  My posture is perfect as I open the door to my husband’s office. It has to be. I exercise religiously. My body needs to be perfect to portray the image that’s required of me when I wear the second skin gowns at functions and awards ceremonies. James Williams demands it. Only the best for him.

  He’s on his cell phone and doesn’t even acknowledge my presence. “No, that’s not what we agreed on.” He’s not happy and it surprises me. Not that he’s unhappy, I don’t think anything makes him happy. What surprises me is that whomever is on the other side of the line is not cowering to his demands. “Then we need to renegotiate.” He drums his fingers on the desktop as a scowl twists his lips. “The time frame had already been established. If things change, then the whole plan needs to be redone,” his voice is hard.

  I take a seat in front of his desk and keep my attention on my phone. I don’t notice anything on the screen, my focus is solely on James and what he’s saying. What I can’t ignore is the wetness between my cheeks and coating the insides of my thighs. This skirt is destined for the trash when I get home. I’ll never get out the cum stains.

  “Fine,” he grits out angrily. “I’ll see you later.” He slams the phone down on his desk. “Goddamn it!” he snarls. Finally, he looks at me. “What the hell are you doing here? You know I’m busy.”

  Go ahead and kick the cat, James.

  I adjust myself in my seat for no other reason but to remember Gringo. I’m sore. I’m wet. And I want him again. I wish it were him in front of me now demanding all those wonderfully filthy things he does instead of James.

  “I came to have lunch with my husband. I thought it would be a nice surprise,” I attempt the most confident smile I can manage.

  “It was a waste of time, Sasha, and stupid,” he states dismissively as his gaze moves to the computer screen in front of him. “Do you need money or something? I have another call to make.”

  As much as I hate it, my feelings are hurt.

  That pisses me off.

  “No, I don’t need anything. I thought we could spend some time together. It’s just lunch, James.” That is not what I meant to say. I’d wanted to tell him he deserves a break from working so hard. The words I’d practiced would have said how much it would mean to me. Instead I told him I think he’s an asshole. I told him the truth.

  His eyes shoot to mine locking their gaze at me.

  Shit!

  “A lunch that you don’t need. Remember we have the function tomorrow where you have to make an appearance. You can do that much correctly, can’t you?” his words are deathly quiet and laced with acid.

  My gaze drops to my hands clutched together in my lap. “Yes James. I’d never let you down.”

  “Good.” Dismissing me, he turns back to whatever the hell is so damn important in front of him. “Stop at the cleaners and pick up my suits after you leave the gym.”

  Asshole!

  Each programmed response within me is screaming at me to get up and leave, to do what he ordered me to do. I fight every single command, the ones that made me the trained wife that I am. “Is everything okay? You didn’t sound very pleased with the call you were on.”

  His fingers pause at the computer keys as he turns his attention back to me. A slow smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “Worried about me Sasha?” he asks icily.

  James is handsome, very handsome. His suits are impeccable, his hair is perfect. I’d thought I’d found Prince Charming when he asked me to marry him. Little did I know this is all there is to James. He has no heart, no feelings, no emotions. He’s stone. And when you get hit by a boulder, it hurts like hell.

  “You work constantly, James,” I shift in my seat again, this time for an entirely different reason. “Of course I worry about you.”

  “Such a perfect wife,” he gets up from his chair and rounds the desk. I’m almost visibly shaking because he’s coming to stand behind me. “I don’t think I’ve told you,” his face is now next to mine, “you’ve gotten more beautiful as time has passed.”

  My heart is thundering in my chest. This is the closest he’s been to me in a year. “Thank you,” I mumble.

  “You’re better than I’d thought you’d be when I first decided you should be my wife,” he continues. His hand lands on my shoulder. I suck in a slow breath. His grip tightens. And tightens. And tightens. “Except now.” His fingers dig into my flesh, pressing int
o the bones. He’s hurting me. He’s never inflicted any kind of physical pain before. His tone drops. “Do. Not. Get into my business, Sasha. Ever.” His hot breath mingles with my breathing; his face is so close. “Understand?” He squeezes me even harder. It’s all I can do not to whimper from the pain.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Very good. Now get out.” Just as quickly, he’s gone.

  Tears threaten to fall. So many emotions are crashing around inside of me; anger, frustration, despair. I want to scream at him that he can’t treat me that way. I want to tell him to go fuck himself.

  Nothing in my outward countenance changes. I remain the poised wife.

  I stand as he moves back to his chair. “Will you be home for dinner tonight?”

  Not looking at me, he replies absently, “No.”

  Moving to the door, I tell him, “I’ll get your suits. And something for tomorrow’s function.” Bitter numbness replaces the hurt and shame. Just like always.

  He doesn’t bother to answer. He never does.

  I leave to go do my chores. My duties.

  After all, there is an image to uphold.

  CHAPTER 3

  Gringo

  Sometimes there is no satisfying the demons.

  There’s only one thing they want.

  I’ve pacified them for so long, but even that is getting more difficult. Sometimes I don’t want to. It seems that more and more I want to give them exactly what they crave. Sometimes I can’t differentiate between what they want and what I want. Who they are and who I am.

  Between them and me.

  I’m not sure I want to any more.

  “Have you seen Sasha since you’ve been back?”

  Bull.

  One of us. Me, Bull, Snake, and Rock. We are it. Bound by sweat and blood, violence and sex, secrets and rules. Some of them visible, like the words etched on our skin in ink. Others run through our veins and are emblazoned in our minds. The four of us are both: messengers of death when necessary, and everything you’ve ever wanted when we want to be. We’re brothers bound by horrors and the blood that stain us, and honor that can only be born from death.